CHESS An adapted screenplay
by Thom Boyer
Summary: Love and politics play themselves out at an international Chess tournament in 1980 on both sides of the Iron Curtain. This is a screenwriting/dramaturgical exercise of mine to get a feel for the form. I am revising this adaptation once again for posting.
1. CHESS Part 1

A bit of a disclaimer for screenwriting purists out there: I have been writing this adaptation in MS Word as an exercise, mostly in working with the film format.  I am fully aware that some of my formatting is off, as I'm not using my Scriptware or Final Draft programs for this.  This is for pure fun; no profit is being gained from this – standard disclaimer that all song lyrics contained herein are Tim Rice's, except for the "Glöm mig om du kan" translation that you won't read until I'm 2/3 – 3/4 of the way through this, which are lyrics by Bjorn Ulvaeus and translated/adapted by yours truly.  I will try to post weekly, if you're looking for a schedule for reading this.  


CHESS

by

Tim Rice, Michael Bennett, Richard Nelson, Robert Coe, David H. Bell, Björn Ulvaeus, Jan Mark, Lars Rudolfsson - as adapted for the screen 

by Thom Boyer

Based on the musical Chess.

Original text © 1984, 1986, 1988, and 1990, by Tim Rice, © 1988 and 1991 by Richard Nelson, © 1990 by Robert Coe.

BLACK:

A lilting, music box waltz begins to play on a set of pizzicato strings.

FADE IN:

The waltz continues.  The frame is concentrated on a painted face – an intense gaze, soft, brown hair wisped in the wind; his neck is hidden by a light olive scarf.  We PAN BACK to reveal more of the image.  His coat is black, and there are other people behind him, their faces equally stern as they parade down the street of a European city.  Flying above is a flag striped red, white, and green from top to bottom.  The center has been cut out.  Four large, black letters at the top reveal this to be a magazine cover – the 7 January 1957 issue of TIME, their "Man of the Year" issue.  The caption on the cover reveals the Man to be "Hungarian Freedom Fighter."

FADE TO:

EXT. CATHEDRAL

SURTITLE: "Budapest, Hungary – November 1956."

A Soviet tank rolls by silently as the waltz continues.  Soldiers have gathered outside the cathedral, assessing ways to break down the barricaded entrance, but we hear none of it - Only the waltz.

INT. CATHEDRAL

Start on the ceiling.  As we PAN DOWN, we notice that the church has been gutted.  Every pew, table, altar piece, and anything not dedicated to the physical support of the building has been piled up against every entrance and window, save one obscured ARCHWAY that some FREEDOM FIGHTERS are trying to clear away.  We begin to hear the huddled masses inside having desperate whispered conversations with each other.  As we PAN AROUND, we reveal, very distinctly, a clean-shaven man, GREGOR VASSY in his early 30s, sitting across from his four-year old daughter, YOUNG FLORENCE at a chess board.  He is setting up a new game.  The pieces are ancient and starkly wood-carven.  Once all the pieces are set up, he opens the game.

                  GREGOR

            (waiting for his daughter to move)

      Each game of chess means there's one less/Variation left to be played./Each day got through means one or two/Less mistakes remain to be made.

She responds correctly; he smiles.

                  GREGOR 

            (as he makes another move)

      Good!

Florence smiles at her father and looks to move, but the game is interrupted.  An explosion is heard; pandemonium ensues among the crowd inside the center as freedom fighters guide them in a mass exodus to the ARCHWAY.

POV OVER YOUNG FLORENCE'S SHOULDER

Gregor quickly picks up two pieces from the board - two kings, one black and one white.  He grabs Florence and brings her over to a FEMALE REFUGEE standing by the archway.  The refugee lifts her up.

CU YOUNG FLORENCE'S HAND as he gives her the white piece.

                  GREGOR 

            (shutting her hand)

      Flora - here!

POV OVER YOUNG FLORENCE'S SHOULDER

He smiles desperately as the female refugee carries her off; he remains in the center of the frame.

                  YOUNG FLORENCE 

            (struggling)

      Apukàd!

CU GREGOR'S JACKET POCKET

He swiftly plunges his hand into his pocket, leaving the black king inside.

POV YOUNG FLORENCE

                  GREGOR 

            (calling to Florence)

      Don't worry - They'll meet again!

Gregor picks a rifle up from the ground and runs off screen.  We hear shouting and gunfire as the catacomb-like tunnel from the archway envelops the frame.

Title: "CHESS"

BEGIN OPENING CREDITS over the following set of scenes:

EXT  CATHEDRAL (BACK DOOR) – BEFORE DAWN 

FOCUS on Florence as she and the female refugee emerge from the cathedral.  A non-descript truck is waiting.  The female refugee pushes her way through a crowd.

                  FLORENCE (V.O.)

      Not much is known/Of early days of chess beyond a fairly vague report/that fifteen hundred years ago,/Two princes fought, though brothers/For a Hindu throne.

POV FEMALE REFUGEE

Florence is handed to a man inside the truck.  Inside are mostly mothers with their children; a few freedom fighters.  Florence is alone as the truck drives off.

                  FREDDIE (V.O.)

      Their mother cried /For no one really likes their offspring fighting to the death. / She begged them stop the slaugher with her every breath /But sure enough, one brother died.

CUT TO:

INT. SUBURBAN HOME - FREDDIE'S ROOM - DAY 

A child, YOUNG FREDDIE, lies stomach down on the floor in front of a chess set.  He moves some pieces around, demonstrating beginner's skill.  We don't see much detail of the room, just that the floor is hardwood and the walls are white, save some obscured black-and-white posters.

                  WALTER (V.O.)

      Sad beyond belief /She told her winning son /You have caused such grief /I can't forgive this evil thing you've done!

FADE TO:

EXT. GROUNDS OF AN IVY LEAGUE CAMPUS - MORNING 

FREDDIE and FLORENCE enjoy a relaxing game of chess in an idyllic setting.

                  FLORENCE (V.O.)

      He tried to explain/How things had really been

                  FREDDIE (V.O.)

      But he tried in vain/No words of his -

                  FREDDIE & FLORENCE (V.O.)

      Would satisfy the queen!

                  ARBITER (V.O.)

      And so, he asked the wisest men he knew/The way to lessen her distress./They told him he'd be pretty certain to impress/By using model soldiers on a chequered board/To show it was his brother's fault...

                  FLORENCE, FREDDIE, & ARBITER (V.O.)

      They thus invented chess!

CUT TO:

EXT. APARTMENT BUILDING IN MOSCOW

TWO AGENTS escort YOUNG ANATOLY to a black, luxurious car parked alongside the curb.

FADE TO:

INT. CLASSROOM 

A very formal scene.  A GRANDMASTER sits across from YOUNG ANATOLY, giving him a chess lesson.

                  ANATOLY (V.O.)

      Chess displayed no inertia -/Soon spread to Persia, then west.

                  CUT TO:

INT. ARENA - DAY 

Anatoly has just defeated his teacher; a crowd cheers.

                  SVETLANA (V.O.)

      Next the Arabs refined it -/Thus redesigned, it progressed.

                  FADE TO:

INT. ARENA - LATER 

ALEXI MOLOKOV presents SVETLANA, a cute but mousy 20-something to Anatoly.  Anatoly gives her a somber glance; she smiles faintly.

                  MOLOKOV (V.O.)

      Still further yet/And when Constantinople fell in 1453/One would have noticed every other refugee/Included in his bags a set.

INT. ANATOLY'S HOME - DUSK 

Svetlana looks on as Anatoly concentrates solely on the board.

                  SVETLANA (V.O.)

      Once in the hands/And in the minds of leading figures of the Renaissance/The spirit and the speed of chess made swift advance/ Through all of Europe's vital lands.

She moves to embrace him, but he gets out of his seat before she has a chance.  We briefly follow Anatoly through his lavish home.

                  ANATOLY (V.O.)

      When we must record/The game was further changed/Right across the board/The western touch upon the pieces ranged -

                  CUT TO:

INT. ARENA 

A banner hangs overhead, flanked by a Soviet flag and an American flag.  Written on it in bold letters is "Trumper vs. Karpov."  We watch as spectators take down the American flag and wrap Freddie up in it.  He is then lifted by his fans.  We faintly hear an enthusiastic "USA!  USA!  USA!..." underneath the music.

                  FLORENCE, FREDDIE, & WALTER (V.O.)

      King, and queen, and rook,/And bishop, knight, and pawn...

                  ANATOLY, MOLOKOV, & SVETLANA 

      ...All took on the look/We know today -

                  ALL SIX (V.O.)

      The modern game was born!

INT. NON-DESCRIPT PRESS ROOM (BROADCAST VIEW)

Lining the proscenium of the stage is an array of flags from nations across the globe.  A man stands at the podium.

The ARBITER, a cool, clear-headed, nondescript man in his late-30s of neither American nor Soviet background, is surrounded by microphones and elegantly dressed women.  The women – his four ASSISTANTS - lean closely to the ARBITER as he faces the camera.

                  ARBITER 

      With such success/We see a game that started by mistake in Hindustan/And boosted in the main by what is now Iran/Reach every corner of the globe/With nation squaring up to nation/To determine, no holds barred/Who owns, who made, who will parade/The champion of chess!

By now, the OPENING CREDITS should have finished.

FADE TO:

INT. TRAIN--FREDDIE'S PRIVATE CAR - EVENING 

SUBTITLE: Italy, 1980.

We start on FREDERICK TRUMPER, a somewhat brash, yet pensive man in his mid-20s with a bit of a playful streak about him. He wears a denim jacket with a button that proclaims "I am a CHESS champion!"  He sits across from a custom built chess- playing computer that takes up the other chair entirely.  A soft string variation on "The Story of Chess" plays in the background, and just as a flute trills, the computer starts whirring.


	2. CHESS Part 2

As a bonus, since this is week #1 that I'm posting here – enjoy the next scene.

  


INT. TRAIN--FREDDIE'S PRIVATE CAR - EVENING 

SUBTITLE: Italy, 1980.

We start on FREDERICK TRUMPER, a somewhat brash, yet pensive man in his mid-20s with a bit of a playful streak about him. He wears a denim jacket with a button that proclaims "I am a CHESS champion!"  He sits across from a custom built chess- playing computer that takes up the other chair entirely.  A soft string variation on "The Story of Chess" plays in the background, and just as a flute trills, the computer starts whirring.

                  COMPUTER 

      Knight to D-5.

Freddie moves the computer's piece on the board accordingly and immediately responds.

                  FREDDIE 

            (under his breath; typing the move on the keyboard)

      Bishop A-5 - Check.

He hears a brief spurt of noise from outside the car as FLORENCE VASSY enters, now late-20s.  We catch a glimpse of her as he jumps out of his seat.  She is somewhat tall, dark-haired, brilliant, shapely - the kind of woman a man would defect from his country for.  She holds a stack of newspapers close to her chest.

                  FREDDIE 

            (continuing; gleaming)

      Florence!

                  FLORENCE 

            (smirking back at him)

      Well, we can't complain /That you're being ignored by the press!

She tosses the stack of papers onto his cot, but holds onto the top one.  Freddie excitedly rushes over to peruse the headlines.  Florence stops him and keeps the paper behind her back.

                  FREDDIE 

            (flirting; reaching around her)

      What'd they say? What'd they say?!

She grabs his arm and places it on her hip; he draws her near, as though for a kiss.

                  FLORENCE 

            (smirking)

      They're not too polite...

                  FREDDIE 

            (raising an eyebrow)

      They say I'm a shit?

She turns quickly to her right.

                  FLORENCE 

      Well, yes...they pulled you to pieces -

She unfolds the paper and presents him the New York Post headline.  CU on the front page, which boasts an impromptu photograph of Freddie at JFK airport and reads boldly, "LOUDMOUTH RISING."

                  FLORENCE 

       - in five different languages!

Freddie gleams and pecks her on the cheek; she lets him pass.  The two begin to dig through the pile on the bed.

                  FLORENCE 

            (continuing; unfolding another paper and handing it to Fredddie)

      Oh! the Daily Mail - "You thrive on unpleasantness!"

He chuckles; she reaches for another paper.

                  FLORENCE 

      Le Monde - "Freddie Trumper: Le honte des échecs."

                  FREDDIE 

            (as he digs)

      I don't believe /That they can't see my game! / I'm like that tennis player - 

            (pauses; snaps his fingers)

      What's his name? / They love to hate me /And for us - That's dollars!

Freddie picks up another newspaper and begins reading an article.  It catches his attention.

                  FLORENCE 

            (reading another headline)

      Die Welt: "Trumper Der Grössliche Skandal des Schachs"

                  FREDDIE 

      Hey, look, here's a piece /That some idiot's written on you!  "Florence Vassy, ravishing Hungarian-born Princeton princess - His gentle companion..." Ha!  If they only knew...

                  FLORENCE 

      What do you mean?

            (tackling Freddie; knocking him back onto the cot)

I'm always gentle with you, Freddie!

She gets off of him, but FREDDIE pulls her back towards him.  They read the article together.

                  FREDDIE & FLORENCE 

      "She stands by her champion..."

                  FREDDIE 

            (raising an eyebrow)

      I like this...

                  FLORENCE & FREDDIE 

      "...whose demands are so infantile -"

Freddie takes the paper and crumples it up.

                  FREDDIE 

      I don't like this.

He throws the paper down.  Florence gets off of the bed.

                  FLORENCE 

            (turning to him)

      If you don't like it, /Then it's up to you.

She extends her hand; he takes it and gets off the bed.

                  FLORENCE 

      They like the Russian, /They could like you too.

                  FREDDIE 

      Commie newspapers... /Of course, the bastards all support the Russian.

FLORENCE gives him a peck on the lips.

                  FLORENCE 

      But Sergievsky seems a sweet opponent /So why do you abuse him all the time?

                  FREDDIE 

      Alright, then – when have I ever abused him?

                  FLORENCE

      Not sure... How many press conferences have you given since he was announced as your challenger?

                  FREDDIE

            (poking her nose)

      Specifics, _kicsi__ lanykam._

                  FLORENCE

            (chuckling)

      God, I wish I'd never given you that Hungarian dictionary.

                  FREDDIE

            (mock-conceitedly)

      Why?  Because I know more than you now?

WALTER DE COURCEY, a late-middle-aged man in a slick grey suit, enters the car carrying a khaki-colored trenchcoat under his arm.

                  FLORENCE

      Look, just because I (was born there) -

                  WALTER

            (interrupting)

      Freddie, how is everything!

                  FREDDIE

            (turns to Walter; dryly)

      You tell me.

                  WALTER

Look, we'll be in Merano soon.  Your game up to speed?

                  FREDDIE 

            (gesturing to the computer)

      According to that thing, it is.  But I'm not sure how much I'd trust it.

                  WALTER 

      Trust me – IBM can keep up with your skills.

                  FREDDIE

      I don't think in punch cards, Walter.

                  WALTER

      Maybe it's the right way to think.

Freddie shoots him a bewildered look.

                  WALTER

            (continuing)

      Or not.  You probably know more about this game than I do.

            (Beat.)

      All right, I'll get it replaced.

                  FLORENCE

      No, you won't.  You'll just get rid of it.

                  WALTER

      Excuse me.  IBM's offering a sizable sum to test out their chess programs, and –

                  FLORENCE

            (curtly)

      And we can tell them they're sub-par.  Thank you.  Good-bye.

                  WALTER 

      Right...

            (to Freddie)

Just remember to smile for the cameras.  Will ya, Freddie?

            (to Florence)

      And you stay a few steps behind him at all times.  We don't want the conservatives tuning out on us.

                  FLORENCE

            (smiling with a vengeance)

      Of course.

Walter walks away.

                  WALTER (O.S.)

            (from the doorway)

      Forty-five minutes, Freddie!

                  FREDDIE 

      Thank you!

            (turning to FLORENCE)

      I'm sorry about -

                  FLORENCE 

      Christ, Freddie, you've been apologizing for him since Karpov.  When are you going to get rid of him?

Freddie walks back to the cot and sits.

                  FREDDIE 

      I can't – you know I owe him.

She slides onto the cot behind him and starts rubbing his shoulders.

                  FREDDIE 

            (continuing)

      And you...I really owe you.

                  FLORENCE 

      How about a quick game, then?  I'll give you more of a challenge than that machine.

                  FREDDIE 

            (smiling)

      Sure.

He gets off the bed.  The two walk over to the chessboard.

                  FLORENCE 

      You're making me yearn for the college days... The private life.

                  FREDDIE 

            (sitting down)

      Private lives are bliss.

Florence opens the game; the two play off of each other organically.

FADE TO:

INT. MOSCOW AIRPORT – AEROFLOT GATE


	3. CHESS Part 3

INT. MOSCOW AIRPORT – AEROFLOT GATE

SUBTITLE: "Moscow Airport"

ANATOLY SERGIEVSKY, mid-30s, sits alone in his seat, thumbing through a Russian chess players' magazine.  A split image of his face and Freddie's is on the cover.  ALEXI MOLOKOV, a bearded man in his early 50s, sits across from him.  He glances at the magazine cover.

                  MOLOKOV

            (leaning forward; perusing the image on the cover)

      A formidable adversary.

            (straightening himself up)

      With a formidable second.  They work well together, I understand.

                  ANATOLY

            (in a daze)

      You understand...

                  MOLOKOV

      You have been preparing for the match, I hope?  I simply ask, because you have not approached me for a game - (this past week.)

                  ANATOLY

            (cutting him off; lackadaisically)

      Don't discredit yourself – You're a fine player.

Molokov shoots Anatoly a bewildered look.

                  MOLOKOV

      I take it you've been researching Trumper's games.

Anatoly finally looks up.

                  ANATOLY

            (curtly)

      Yes.

He returns to the magazine.

                  MOLOKOV

      All of them?

                  ANATOLY

      Why?  Is he researching yours?

            (Beat.)

      I have the highest rating of any Soviet player -

                  MOLOKOV

      And America holds the title.

                  ANATOLY

      He's mad...

                  MOLOKOV

      _He has a title!  Which is more than I can say for you.  He lays claim to your tradition – __our tradition.  Does that mean nothing to you?_

Anatoly turns a page.

                  MOLOKOV

      How is your wife?

                  ANATOLY

      She is fine...

                  MOLOKOV

      I haven't seen you with her in a while.  A shame...she should be a model for Russian women everywhere...

                  ANATOLY

      Please...

                  MOLOKOV

            (continuing)

      ...But you are never with her, are you?   All that you have accomplished, all that you might – she is family, but what would she have to show for it?

Anatoly shuts the magazine and looks at Molokov.  An announcement is heard, in Russian.

                  MOLOKOV

            (gets up)

      Come; we are boarding now.

Molokov walks to the gate.  Anatoly opens up his briefcase and stuffs the magazine inside.  He starts to close the briefcase when he takes notice of the magazine cover.  CU on the picture.

                  ANATOLY

      Who needs a dream? /

A MUSIC BOX begins to play, as though accompanying a dancing, tattered marionette.

                  ANATOLY

            (as he closes the briefcase)

      Who needs ambition? /

He gets up and trudges along to the gate, briefcase in hand.

                  ANATOLY

      Who'd be the fool /In my position?

He hands his ticket to the flight attendant and boards.

              FADE TO:

INT. PIONEERS PALACE – STUDIO - DAY

A TEACHER sits across from YOUNG ANATOLY, a chessboard between them.  No one else is in the room.  Ornate Russian paintings and décor adorn the walls.

                  ANAOTLY (V.O.)

      Once, I had dreams... /

CU on their hands as they set up the board.

                  ANATOLY (V.O.)

      Now they're obsessions /

              DISSOLVE TO:

INT. PIONEERS PALACE – GREAT HALL

Mid-game.  Start on a CU of two players' hands, from the same angle as in the previous shot.

                  ANATOLY (V.O.)

      Hopes became needs /Lovers, possessions /

PAN through the spectators in attendance.  Anatoly, now an adult, plays a match against his teacher from years before.

                  ANATOLY (V.O.)

      Then they move in /Oh, so discreetly -/

Muted, but warm applause from the spectators.

                  ANATOLY (V.O.)

      Slowly at first... /

Anatoly makes his way through the crowd and is stopped by a warm Molokov.  Next to Molokov is a fetching young woman with her back turned.

                  ANATOLY (V.O.)

      Smiling too sweetly /

Molokov turns the woman around to face Anatoly.  It is SVETLANA – she is the epitome of Soviet decadence, as richly decorated and opulent as the palace surrounding her.  She could pass for a Bond Girl.

                  ANATOLY (V.O.)

      I opened doors - /

She offers her gloved hand; Anatoly looks at it, then at Molokov.

                  ANATOLY (V.O.)

      They walked right through them /

Molokov nods.  Anatoly looks at Svetlana, who smiles aristocratically.

                  ANATOLY (V.O.)

      Called me their friend /

CU on the hand; PAN, following it as it comes closer to meeting his lips.

                  ANATOLY (V.O.)

      I hardly knew them... / Now I'm - /

As soon as his lips touch her hand...

              CUT TO:

INT. ANATOLY'S APARTMENT – EVENING

The apartment is spacious, though not nearly as lavish as the Pioneers' Palace.  It still harbors its own luxurious character to set it apart from the average Soviet residence.  Anatoly sits in a leather armchair, a stark and wooden chess set in front of him, similar to the one Gregor had in Budapest.  Molokov sits across from him, and Svetlana stands behind him, rubbing his shoulders.  Her appearance has changed – her dress plain, black, almost puritan.

                  ANATOLY (V.O.)

      Where I want to be /And who I want to be /And doing what I always said I would /And yet, I feel I haven't won at all!

CU CHESSBOARD

Anatoly and Molokov's hands move pieces in a set of swift, vicious exchanges.

                  ANATOLY (V.O.)

      Running for my life /And never looking back /In case there's someone right behind /To shoot me down /And say he always knew I'd fall!

INT. AIRPLANE – FLIGHT TO ITALY – NIGHT

Anatoly sits next to the window, head cocked to the side and looking passively through it.  Everyone else on board is asleep.

                  ANATOLY

      When the crazy wheel slows down... /Where will I be? / Back where I started.

              FADE TO:

INT. ANATOLY'S APARTMENT – KITCHEN – MORNING

Anatoly is seated at a table, staring at a table placing.  Svetlana brings him plates of cold cuts, cheese, bread, and butter.  He just stares at them.

                  ANATOLY (V.O.)

      Don't get me wrong -/ I'm not complaining

INT. AIRPLANE – FLIGHT TO ITALY – DAWN

Anatoly shifts in his seat and ends up staring at the ceiling.  The cabin lights come on to indicate the plane is about to land.

                  ANATOLY

      Times have been good, /Fast, entertaining.

INT. ANATOLY'S APARTMENT – KITCHEN – MORNING

Anatoly gets up from the table without having touched his food.  Svetlana looks after him longingly and starts to clear his place.

                  ANATOLY (V.O.)

      But what's the point /If I'm concealing

INT. AIRPLANE – FLIGHT TO ITALY – DAWN

The plane is stopped; he grabs his luggage from the overhead compartment and walks down the aisle.

                  ANATOLY

      /Most of my thoughts /All of my feeling.

              FADE TO:

INT. BALZANO AIRPORT - DAWN

Anatoly steps out of the gate and is immediately flanked by a dozen microphones from American and international television affiliates.

                  ANATOLY

            (to the press)

      /Now I'm /Where I want to be and who I want to be /And doing what I always said I would –

Molokov and his aides hurry Anatoly along.

                  ANATOLY

      /And yet, I feel I haven't won at all!

INT. ANATOLY'S APARTMENT – BATHROOM – MORNING

Anatoly runs some water from the sink and splashes it on his face.  He rubs it in, relishing in it.

                  ANATOLY (V.O.)

      Running for my life /And never looking back /In case there's someone right behind to shoot me down /And say he always knew I'd fall!

He looks at himself in the mirror and after a beat notices Svetlana standing behind him, holding one of the dishes she had cleared away.  He turns and looks at her.

                  ANATOLY (V.O.)

      /When the crazy wheel slows down...

He leaves the bathroom and walks off.  Svetlana is left, seeming lost.

                  ANATOLY (V.O.)

      /Where will I be?

EXT. BALZANO AIRPORT – MORNING

A luxurious black limo is waiting for Anatoly.  He is swiftly ushered into it amidst a gaggle of KGB agents and other escorts.

                  ANATOLY (V.O.)

      Back where I started...

INT. LIMOUSINE – CONTINUOUS

Anatoly watches the view through the car window as it begins to move.

              FADE TO:

EXT. PALACE AND SCHLOSS MAUR HOTEL--BROADCAST VIEW - DAY 


	4. CHESS Part 4

Yes, it's been a while.  Yes, I've been busy.  No, I wasn't sure if anyone wanted to read any more.  Apparently a few of you do.  So, here goes!

              FADE TO:

EXT. PALACE AND SCHLOSS MAUR HOTEL--BROADCAST VIEW - DAY 

It is a grey, snowy day.  A TV JOURNALIST is reporting on the match as SOVIET DELEGATES, an AMERICAN ENTOURAGE, and EUROPEAN OBSERVERS gather in the background to greet each other.  In the bottom right corner of the screen is the "NBS" logo, designed like a simple pigeon's tail inside an eye.

                  TV JOURNALIST

      This is Julia Waters coming to you live from Merano, Italy, and the luxurious, newly renovated Palace and Schloss Maur Hotel, courtesy of NBS.  We are mere hours away from the opening match of the World Chess Championship.  The contest will pit reigning American champion Frederick Trumper against Soviet challenger Anatoly Sergievsky.  This year's match will take us to both sides of the Iron Curtain, when we move to Budapest, Hungary, immediately after the tenth game...

                  EUROPEAN OBSERVERS (O.S.)

            (under the report)

      No one can deny that these are difficult times.

She looks over her shoulder and starts walking backwards, towards Molokov.  Walter, on the other side of the screen, is now wearing his khaki-colored trenchcoat; Molokov wears a black one.  The camera follows Ms. Waters.

                  TV JOURNALIST

      Before we move to a special live press conference with Mr. Trumper, we will be having a few words with Mr. Sergievsky's associate.

Walter moves to flag down Molokov.  The camera shakes and jitters, following the TV Journalist as she also flags down Molokov.

                  TV JOURNALIST

      Excuse me, Mr. Molokov!

                  WALTER 

      Mr. Molokov!

                  MOLOKOV 

            (to Walter)

      Eh, one moment, please...

                  EUROPEAN OBSERVERS 

            (gathering around the scene)

      /These are very dangerous and difficult times.

                  TV JOURNALIST

      Will we be hearing from your challenger today, Mr. Molokov?

                  MOLOKOV 

      I fear not; Comrade Sergievsky is pre-occupied with the tournament, and wishes not to be distracted from his game.  I will field any questions you may have at the conference in his place.  If you will, excuse me. 

            (turning to Walter)

      Mr...de Courcey, is it?

EXT. PALACE AND SCHLOSS MAUR HOTEL --NORMAL VIEW - CONTINUOUS 

The TV journalist continues to report as Walter and Molokov slip away from the cameras.

                  WALTER 

      Yes, I -

                  MOLOKOV 

            (cutting him off)

      Forgive me, I was expecting to greet one Ms. Flora -

                  WALTER 

            (interrupting; softly)

      Not in front of the cameras, Mr. Molokov.

The two exchange a tense glance.

                  EUROPEAN OBSERVERS

            (beneath the above dialogue) 

      No one can deny that these are diffiult times; /These are very dangerous and difficult times...

Molokov chuckles and extends his hand.

                  MOLOKOV 

      It's the US vs. USSR /Yet we more or less are...

Walter takes it and half-smiles.

                  EUROPEAN OBSERVERS 

            (whispering amongst themselves)

      No one can deny that these are difficult times!

                  MOLOKOV 

      ...To our credit putting all that aside /

Walter turns away, but Molokov doesn't let go of his hand.

                  MOLOKOV

            (continuing)      

We have swallowed our pride. /

                  EUROPEAN OBSERVERS 

      These are very dangerous and difficult times!

Molokov lets go of Walter's hand; the two walk side by side to the hotel's entrance, followed by their respective delegations.

                  WALTER 

            (opening the door for Molokov)

      It really doesn't matter who comes out on top - /

                  MOLOKOV 

            (walking through)

Who gets the chop! /

INT. PALACE AND SCHLOSS MAUR HOTEL—LOBBY - CONTINUOUS

The two disperse with their respective delegations.

                  WALTER & MOLOKOV

            (parting wave)

      No one's way of life is threatened /By a flop!

The delegations make their way to a conference room.

                  WALTER & AMERICAN ENTOURAGE 

            But we're gonna smash their bastard - /Make him want to change his name! /Take him to the cleaners /And devastate him - /Wipe him out, humiliate him!

INT. PALACE AND SCHLOSS MAUR HOTEL-CONFERENCE ROOM – CONTINUOUS

A black-and-white banner, reading boldly "Trumper vs. Sergievsky '80," spans the width of the room above a podium, where the Arbiter and his assistants stand.  Camera crews have set up; reporters rush in, pushing through the delegations where necessary.

The Soviet delegation eye the reporters warily, slowly shifting their focus to the American entourage as they find their seats.

                  SOVIET DELEGATION 

            (walking to their seats)

      We don't want the whole world saying/ "They can't even win a game!"/ We have never reckoned on coming second/ - 

                  ALL AMERICANS AND SOVIETS 

       - There's no use in losing!

The Arbiter clears his throat into the mics in front of him, causing some mild feedback as the reporters take notes and the camera crews film.  Molokov steps up to the podium to take a seat.  Flash bulbs go off sporadically.

                  ARBITER 

            (into the mic)

      The value of events like this/ Need not be stressed/ When East and West...

            (eyeing Molokov...)

      ...Can meet as comrades/ Ease the tension over drinks...

            (...then the three remaining empty chairs)

Through sporting links.

Molokov looks at the Arbiter, his eyebrows raised, jaw taut.  The assistants have their backs turned to him.  On the floor, the opposing delegations eye each other coldly.

                  ALL AMERICANS AND SOVIETS 

      As long as their man sinks...

                  CUT TO:

BROADCAST VIEW - CONTINUOUS 

                  MS. WATERS 

            (over the last note of "US vs. USSR)

      The mood here is one of -

An interruption as the pace of the flash bulbs escalates.  We PAN AROUND back to the double doors as Freddie stands in the doorway, like a ten-year-old walking into a birthday party.  Florence peers in behind him.  He turns to her.

                  FREDDIE 

            (to Florence)

      What a scene /What a joy! / What a lovely sight -

DRAMATIC VIEW 

Reporters rush Freddie, microphones poised.  He takes Florence's hand; the two duck around the journalistic mob and rush toward the stage.

                  FREDDIE 

When my game is the big sensation! / Has the mob's sporting taste/Altered overnight – 

Freddie leaps onto the podium and dusts himself off.  Florence shakes her head and walks around to use the steps.

                  FREDDIE

Have they found new sophistication? 

            (straightening himself up; surveying the scene)

      Not yet!  They just want to see/ If the nice guy beats the bum!

Florence walks to her seat.  Freddie stops her.

                  FREDDIE 

      If it's East-West, and the money's sky-high/They all come!

He kisses her full on the lips.  Sounds of the press "Aw"-ing and another eruption of flash bulbs.  Walter fidgets.

                  FREDDIE 

            (continuing; aside to Florence)

      You can raise all you want/If you raise the roof -/Scream and shout, and the gate increases...

One of the assistants whispers something in the Arbiter's ear.  He eyes Freddie cautiously as Freddie waves to the crowd.

                  FREDDIE 

      Break the rules, break the bank/I'm the living proof

            (side-steps to the podium; takes the mic from in front of the Arbiter)

They don't care how I move my pieces! 

            (into the mic)

      I know I'm the best there is /But all you want is a show /Well, that's alright; I'll be glad to oblige! 

            (as he overlooks the press before him; to self)

      SRO...SRO...

                  ARBITER

            (into the mic)

      Questions are now open for Mr. Trumper, the world champion.

Florence rushes to Freddie's side.

                  FLORENCE 

            (softly)

      Easy, Freddie...

                  FREDDIE 

            (half-smiling; covering the mic)

      C'mon, I know what I'm doing.

Freddie steps back up and points to a reporter in the back.  ALL REPORTERS respond instantly.

                  REPORTERS

            (in UNISON)

      Why do you persist with vicious attacks /Ungracious remarks re: opponents /It smacks of a lack of conviction! / Admit, you're under duress /And that your only skill left is for money, not chess!

                  FREDDIE 

            (into mic; over the end of the last line)

      One at a time here...

                  REPORTERS 

            (still in UNISON)

      If Soviet life's as grim as you claim/Then how come their boys are so good at the game? /Though you swear the American dream/Is clearly the best,/ You're no advertisement for life and times in the West...

                  FREDDIE 

      Whoa, whoa!  I said one at a time; otherwise no one gets an answer. 

            (pointing to a LOCAL REPORTER in the back)

      You!

                  TABLOID REPORTER 

            (jumping in)

      Why did you risk the whole match breaking down?

                  FREDDIE 

      I really don't know what you mean, and wait your turn.  Next question?

                  TABLOID REPORTER 

      All your outrageous demand, your conceit –

                  FREDDIE 

            (brushing him off)

      I don't see anything outrageous in demanding what I'm worth; next question?

                  FINANCIAL NEWS REPORTER 

      They pay you all that you ask for, and then you demand even more!

                  FREDDIE 

            (leaning on his elbows)

      Look, I'm the reason you're all here - who's ever heard of Sergievsky?

Ms. Waters, the Tabloid reporter, and the Financial News reporter step forward from the gaggle, microphones at their sides, toward the podium.

                  MS. WATERS, TAB REP, FN REP 

            (half to each other; half to FREDDIE)

      It's hard to believe what we're reporting/ Why so desparaging? - Not very sporting!

                  FREDDIE 

      Yeah? Then tell me, are the Communists sporting?

Ms. Waters, the Tabloid reporter, and the Financial News reporter all arrive at the podium and raise their own mics simultaneously.

                  MS. WATERS, TAB REP, FN REP 

      Tell all this to the United Nations/ Are you an asset to East-West relations?

Molokov leans back in his chair.  He looks at Florence, smirks, then looks to the ground.

                  FREDDIE 

            (half-chuckling)

      What is this?  What have the Russians ever done for East-West relations? 

            (into the podium mic)

      Are there any serious questions out there?

                  LOCAL REPORTER 

      What's your impression of our little town?

                  FREDDIE 

      Gave me a toothache when I got off the train.  Next question?

                  SOVIET REPORTER 

      Where would you rather have played, Leningrad?

                  FREDDIE 

      Leningrad was an insulting Soviet suggestion!

                  MOLOKOV 

            (perking up)

      We only tried to be friendly; we would have played in New York!

                  FREDDIE

            (to Molokov)

      You know as well as I do what your motives were!

Freddie turns instantly back to the trio at his podium once he hears them.

                  MS. WATERS, TAB REP, FN REP 

      You protest too much!  We see your ploy – a /Big noise to hide your fears, pure paranoia.

                  FREDDIE 

            (leaning closely to their mics, with utmost sincerity)

      I'm not paranoid - they're out to get me!

                  ALL REPORTERS & PRESS 

      Tell all this to the United Nations!/ Are you an asset to East-West relations?

Freddie steps back from the podium, a bit flustered.  He looks at Florence almost as an afterthought, then steps back up to the lectern.

                  MS. WATERS 

      Will you be quitting for good if you lose?

                  FREDDIE

            (sighs)

      Next question?

The Tabloid reporter thrusts his mic up, almost hitting Freddie square in the jaw.

                  TABLOID REPORTER 

      How come your second's a girl, lover boy?

                  FREDDIE 

      Ow!  What'd you say?

Again, the reporter thrusts the mic.

                  TABLOID REPORTER 

      How come your second's a girl, lover boy?

Freddie grabs the Tabloid reporter's microphone from out of his hands and swings it, striking him square in the jaw and pushing him back a few feet.  Another eruption of flashbulbs.

Florence rushes to Freddie, her arms reaching to spread some distance between him and the Tabloid reporter.  Freddie just marches out of the room.  The Tabloid reporter and Ms. Waters stop Florence before she can follow him.

                  TABLOID REPORTER 

            (continuing; his lip bleeding)

      Well, what did I say? / He's out of his tree! / He's finally flipped -

                  MS. WATERS 

      And between you and me, / He's no hope of retaining his crown /In this frame of mind!

Molokov gets out of his seat and heads for the exit.

                  BOTH 

      In fact, he shouldn't have come here /He should have resigned!

Florence looks at the blood steadily gathering at the Tabloid reporter's lip.

                  FLORENCE 

      Smile, you've got your first exclusive story - /Now you can bask in his reflected glory!

The Tabloid reporter turns away; she circles around to face him again, removing a handkerchief from her blouse.  She wipes the reporter's lip with it and shows him the stain on the cloth.

                  FLORENCE

      Naked, unprovoked Yankee aggression - /Oh, what a credit to your great profession!

She throws the handkerchief to the ground and leaves the conference room, cameras and flashbulbs trailing her.

                  SPORTS REPORTER 

            (to Tabloid reporter & Ms. Waters)

      Much better to quit while still number one /Than quest to defeat reputation, undone -

                  FINANCIAL NEWS REPORTER 

            (joining the gaggle near the podium)

      Though he's proved to himself it's a Communist plot /If you ask me, it's money that did it and started the rot!

All reporters and news crews begin packing away their notes and equipment.

                  ALL REPORTERS & PRESS 

            (to each other)

      It's sad that the best his country's produced /Is crumbling in front of our eyes and reduced /To a mindless abuse when he should be grateful instead...

INT. PALACE AND SCHLOSS MAUR HOTEL-FREDDIE'S SUITE - NIGHT

A replay of Freddie striking the reporter plays out on the television screen.

                  ALL REPORTERS & PRESS (V.O.)

      Remember, we made him famous /Without us, he's dead!

Florence's hand reaches to the dial and shuts off the screen.

                  FLORENCE

      Not good, Freddie.  They hate you enough.

Freddie sits on his bed, a table with chessboard pulled up to him.  His luggage still isn't unpacked.  Florence turns to him with her arms folded.  He looks at her, then back at the board.

                  FREDDIE

      I'm sorry you had to pick up the pieces.

                  FLORENCE

      Fine!  Just...let's get some sleep.  First game's tomorrow.

INT. PALACE AND SCHLOSS MAUR HOTEL-ANATOLY'S SUITE - NIGHT


End file.
